My Blog

Please join me on a journey from grief to surrender, from fear to empowerment, from uncertainty to.... uncertainty. "When you become comfortable with uncertainty, infinite possibilities open up in your life." ​~Eckhart Tolle

This blog has taken a backseat to the book I've begun to write (again). I've decided to start sharing pieces of it here to let you see what I'm working on. Many people have assumed that the book would be some form of the blog, but it's actually an entirely separate project. I plan on posting more excerpts to the blog site, as well as releasing chapters to my mailing list.

​I just had a strong cry, the kind of cry that shakes you. The silent kind, the one that takes hold of your body and surrenders it to the unbelievable truth: Your love is dead.

I had been writing about George.* Our first months together, in particular the afternoon I went to him to “end things” and ended up under his covers instead. That afternoon I needed not so much to break up with him, but to tell him: I know I’m going to break your heart, and I’m sorry.

But that never happened. Who broke whose heart?

George, my sweet George, it has been almost 3 years and I still ask myself this question: Where have you gone? How could you have left this world so suddenly, so easily, so spotlessly?

Poof. And you were gone. Poof. And my life was to go on without you.Poof. Life would never be the same again.

When I think of you like this -- these memories, recreating their image, placing my body back in time with yours, allowing myself to feel you, to recall the details; what we wore, how you smelled, the sound of your voice; the way you spoke to me, softly and with certainty; the way your eyes lit up, the way you closed them when I touched your hair; it is all so familiar to me still, and that surprises me, and I am grateful. I fear the day when I will no longer remember. When the words on these pages will be my only way in.

The interesting thing about a cry like this is that, while gripping and painful and seemingly unbearable, it brings a notable sense of relief: I have not forgotten you, I have not moved on from you, I still feel for you, I still love you.

You mean something to me. ​It was not all a dream.

*I am writing again. It is the same book, and it is a different book. Stay tuned for updates.

I have arrived. This is the moment when things begin to come into focus. The boxes are unpacked, the curtains are hung, (most of) the heavy lifting is done. My child, by some miracle, is asleep in her room at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and I am here on this couch (this couch that is no longer my bed!) and for the first time in months I feel calm, and rested, and ready to explore.​

It's happening. January will be our last month in the Bay Area. If this comes as a surprise to you, it also comes as a surprise to me. But sometimes life just happens like that...

Some of you know that I purchased a new construction condo in Denver that closed in November. You may also know that I've been deliberating a move to Colorado on and off for the past 2.5 years where the other half of my family resides, and each time have determined that my attachment to California -- to my friends, my community, my family, the climate, the air, the landscape, the comfort, the familiarity, the ties -- were too strong to break. ​

​Last week I heard about this thing called Approval Addiction (aka, fear of rejection), which is exactly what it sounds like. And as soon as it was spoken to me, I knew I had it. I have been avidly seeking approval from everyone in the outside world since the day I was born, and I have been using their approval to confirm my self worth.

Now as children, I think we do this naturally -- we look to our caretakers for positive (and negative) reinforcement -- but at some point, we develop a sense of self, an identity, and we begin to know who we are and what we stand for apart from the expectations of others. But I never got there. I never stopped needing everyone around me to tell me I was okay in order to feel worthy, in order to feel safe. And being teased as a minority growing up certainly fed into my intense desire to belong, to look to others for approval, even at the expense of my own worthiness and individuality. But I don’t think this is a “minority” thing. I think it’s a human thing, based largely upon the relationships we had as children.